


Meeting Elissa

by darklady92



Series: Love Is Fickle [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 12:11:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13123467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darklady92/pseuds/darklady92
Summary: First impressions are everything, if you believe that sort of thing. Sometimes when everything goes wrong, it comes out right.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Alistair shifted in his saddle again. He was a mediocre rider on a good day, and this wasn’t a good day. “Remind me why I’m doing this again,” he said, tugging at his collar. Though the wind was chill enough to redden his cheeks, sweat beaded his forehead and his clothes clung to him.

“For the good of Ferelden,” Arl Eamon chuckled as he guided his horse next to Alistair’s with ease.

“Yes, yes. That’s why I had to be king,” Alistair waved a dismissive hand at his uncle. “I mean this,” he gestured to the winding road before them.

Without missing a beat, Eamon stiffened his shoulders and cleared his throat, “Every kingdom needs its king, and every king needs a queen.”

Alistair rolled his eyes and huffed, “Ferelden would have a queen if you’d allow it. No one would make a better queen than Solona— “.

“I, and every other member of your council would disagree,” Eamon cut him off. “Lady Elissa is by all accounts a war hero now with a title and an impeccable lineage besides. Anora herself looks a peasant in comparison,” he finished, his chin slightly raised.

“War hero?! Title?!” Alistair’s voice went up an octave. “Maker’s Breath, Solona saved us all! She’s the Hero of Ferelden! What title could possibly be more queen-worthy?!”

Arl Eamon took a deep breath, then gave the king a sideways glance, “She’s the daughter of the late-Teryn of Highever and the sister to the current Teryn for starters…”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Alistair retorted, his voice still higher than his norm. “I’m a bastard for Andraste’s sake!”

“Yes, but you have Maric’s blood—Calenhad’s blood.”

“It shouldn’t matter. Solona saved me. She saved you; she saved all of Ferelden! It should be her…” Alistair continued his argument.

“She’s a fine woman who did her duty for her Order and for her country. No one’s disputing that. We’re all grateful to the Warden and none will soon forget it, especially me,” Eamon countered. “That’s why she may remain in the palace as long as she wishes, but that doesn’t mean that she is fit to be queen.”

“And why not?!” Alistair raged.

Arl Eamon tightened the grip on the reigns with such force that his knuckles turned white and pulled back, causing his horse to come to an abrupt halt. It happened so sudden that Alistair just barely stopped his own horse without throwing himself off. As the king righted himself, Eamon sighed heavily, hung his head, and rubbed his temples.

Once Alistair was settled, Eamon looked at him directly, “Alistair, we’ve been through this countless times. The Hero is a mage. It would not only send all of Ferelden into turmoil, it would put the Chantry in an uproar. Even if I were to agree to it, they certainly would not.”

Alistair went silent and looked away, choosing to instead stare at his gloved hands that loosely held his horse’s reigns. His chest tightened, constricting the breath from his lungs. “But I love her…,” the cracking in his voice caused the words to come out in an almost-whisper. His eyes stung as he forced them to meet those of his uncle’s again.

Eamon’s expression softened. He placed a hand on the king’s shoulder and the two remained that way for a time, neither saying a word. Eventually, the arl lifted his hand and patted his king on the same shoulder, “Love is a fickle thing, my boy. Far better to put your efforts into something more lasting.”

With that, Arl Eamon kicked his horse back into motion with a silent King Alistair following behind.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Their welcome to Highever was a warm one. Common-folk swarmed their procession and followed them to the castle’s gates. The arl sat taller in his saddle as he smiled and waved at the crowd, giving the king a sidelong glance before returning his full attention to the on-lookers. Cheering men and laughing children rang in Alistair’s ears until he too found himself smiling and waving at his subjects. Only when the gates shut behind him did his smile fade.

He ignored the shaking of his legs as he dismounted, though their stiffness would not so easily be dismissed. The heat that greeted him upon entering the castle was a welcome sensation. The overwhelming scent of smoke that followed, however, was not. Whether it was emanating from the hearth ahead or from the charred stone walls surrounding them, he wasn’t sure. He looked to his uncle, who seemed unfazed, and decided not to mention it.

Alistair’s eyes watered as he suppressed the urge to cough. “Presenting His Majesty, King Alistair Theirin, and Arl Eamon Guerrin of Redcliffe,” a voice boomed when Alistair stopped walking and looked down to wipe his eyes.

When he looked up again, Alistair saw a man who could only be the teryn approaching. Though he walked with a minor limp, he carried himself with the air of a man bred for nobility. Yet, as he got closer, his eyes gave the impression that he had seen his share of hardship too. The scars on his face gave it credence.

“Your Majesty,” he began with a smile, followed by a bow. “Your presence in Highever is an honor, indeed,” the teryn’s voice exuded the perfect mixture of authority, confidence, and hospitality.

Alistair immediately envied the man. “The honor is mine, Teryn Cousland,” he managed after clearing his throat.

“Fergus, please, Your Grace,” his smile broadened. “We’re to be brothers soon, after all, I hope,” he gave the king a wink.

“Of course,” Alistair gave a nervous laugh, tugging at his collar.

Fergus merely laughed then turned his attention to the arl. “Eamon! It’s been some time, my friend,” he beamed, clasping the older man’s shoulders.

“Fergus, my lad, it’s great to see you well. The leg is healing nicely, I take it,” Eamon inquired, looking down as he did so.

“As nice as it’s going to, so the healers say. I’m told that I’ll have a limp for the rest of my days,” he replied, following Eamon’s gaze to his leg. “A small price to pay,” he finished with a smile.

Eamon chose not to linger on the subject, “So, it’s true what they say about your sister, then? She led your men at the Battle of Denerim”?

“That she did. My men swear by the Maker that without her, they would have been overrun,” the teryn stood a bit taller as he talked of his sister. “Truth be told, I don’t think I could have done any better myself.”

Eamon sent Alistair a look that gave the king an overwhelming urge to roll his eyes, then returned his attention to Fergus, “She sounds like a fine warrior, to be sure.”

“She is. Father—would have been proud,” his face fell, and he lowered his head slightly.

Eamon in turn placed a hand on the teryn’s shoulder. The Hall was silent for a moment, making Alistair shift his weight from one foot to the other. “Of that I have no doubt,” the arl replied with a small smile that Fergus returned. “Where—is—the Lady Elissa, if I may ask,” Eamon scanned the room before looking back at him.

Fergus hung his head and chuckled, “At the training fields, I’d wager. Since returning home, Elissa’s made it her duty to drill the men daily.” When Alistair and Eamon exchanged a look, he continued quickly, “But I’ve sent word of your arrival. She should be along soon, I assure you.”

Eamon laughed, “No, no. It’s quite all right. I’m simply curious as to the need, now that the Blight is over…”

“A question I’ve asked her many times,” he sighed. “‘A soldier’s duty is to stay vigilant, even in peace,’ she says,” Fergus continued in a tone that told he had heard it one-too-many times.

At that, Alistair’s head snapped to attention so sudden that it made an audible ‘crack’. The two men turned to him in unison. “Did you hear something you liked, Your Majesty,” Arl Eamon chuckled, causing Fergus to do the same.

“No. Er—yes. I mean—she really said that,” Alistair stammered, heat rising to his cheeks.

The men continued laughing. “Repeatedly. A few days with Elissa, Your Grace, and you’ll be chanting it in your sleep,” Fergus replied.

Fergus and Eamon continued talking as Alistair considered this. As they began laughing once more, Alistair felt his own lip twitch upward.


	3. Chapter 3

****

When prompted to business, Alistair elected Eamon to negotiate the terms of engagement in his stead. He wasn’t sure if the twist in the arl’s expression was meant to be pleasant or foul, so he made himself scarce before he got the chance to find out. Besides, there was something he needed to see.

The air was slightly warmer than earlier outside. His lungs appreciated the fresh air, and his legs appreciated the movement. He was pleased that he was able to get away without an escort. It reminded him of the days when he was a simple Grey Warden, before the weight of an entire kingdom brought him to his knees.

Now, if only he could remember which direction to go. Alistair did a turn-around, studying the landscape for any clue. Nothing. He hung his head and laughed. After all, this was one of the many reasons he had insisted that Solona be their leader; the king had absolutely no sense of direction.

“Perhaps I should have gotten an escort,” he said to himself, still laughing. “Maybe I should just go back.” He looked up just in time to see a rider galloping toward him at full speed.

“Look out!” a voice shouted as a glint of armor atop a large blur of white raced past, missing him by a hair.

Alistair took a step back but lost his footing. He flailed his arms, grasping for anything that wasn’t air. Luckily, the movement allowed him to recover his balance. His heart pounded in his ears as he bent over and rested his hands on his knees. He let out a shaky laugh while simultaneously trying to catch his breath.

Once his breathing became steady, Alistair straightened. His legs were still wobbling in place, though his heart had quietened. “That was close,” he breathed, looking down at the muddy road beneath his boots. He lifted his foot to take another step, when a loud bark sounded directly behind him. Alistair began flapping again, this time falling face-first into the mud.

 

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

 

“Maker’s breath, what happened to you”? Eamon walked over to Alistair as he entered the Hall.

“Don’t look at me,” Alistair began. “Ask him,” he glared down at his attacker who was only half as caked in mud as himself. The culprit met the king’s eyes, cocked his head sideways, and wagged his tail.

“Tank! There you are,” the mabari’s attention immediately snapped to the approaching woman. He barked, his tail wagging frantically.

Alistair followed his gaze. Her hair was light and braided, though wisps clung to her face and a few more stood on edge. The heavy armor she bore did well in hiding any features below the neck that she had or lacked. However, nothing short of a helmet could hide the gash across her right eye. Still, she wasn’t unpleasant. Her eyes were soft, and her smile was warm.

“We were supposed to be racing, or did you forget,” Tank left Alistair’s side to dance around her, barking as he did so. “What is it, boy? Did you find something?” He stopped, gave a short bark, and ran back to Alistair.

Alistair and Eamon exchanged a look as the hound began circling him; Eamon simply shrugged in response. Tank then nudged the king’s backside with his nose. Once. Twice. The third time Alistair stumbled forward, “Now wait just a minute…”

The woman giggled, making Alistair direct his attention from Tank to her. The sound was music. He had never heard anyone else laugh that way, and he had a feeling that he never would. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, only to fall when the noise died. His cheeks grew hot as she met his eyes for the first time and intensified when she gave him a wink.

“Now, Tank, what have I told you about bringing home strays,” she returned her attention to the mabari. Tank peeked his head from behind Alistair and whined. “Tank,” she crossed her arms and tapped her foot. Slowly, he emerged from behind Alistair, walked halfway between the two of them, and sat.

“Right. Well, actually…” Alistair cleared his throat and began, only to be interrupted by Tank. The mabari looked from Alistair to the woman and barked. She laughed again, this time Alistair joining her.

“I’d hardly call the King of Ferelden a stray, dear sister,” Fergus boomed, just entering the Hall. “I see that hound of yours is stirring up mischief again,” he stopped to stand beside her.

“Oh, come off it, Fergus. I know who he is. We were just having a bit of fun,” she gave her brother a sidelong glance and jabbed him in the side with an elbow.

“Right. And without any introduction, too, I’d wager,” Fergus returned his sister’s look. Tank whined as the siblings had a silent stand-off.

She rolled her eyes after a moment and turned to Alistair. “My apologies, Your Majesty. Elissa Cousland, at your service,” she bowed. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” she straightened and smiled.

“No need to apologize. A good sense of humor is a terrible thing to waste,” Alistair chuckled his response. “And the pleasure is mine, my lady.” He answered her smile with a crooked one of his own.

“Well, now, this is splendid! A perfect match,” Eamon cut in, clapping Fergus on the back.

Fergus laughed as both Alistair and Elissa gave the arl a look, “Indeed.” He gave Alistair a once-over before turning to his sister, “Perhaps you’d like to show His Majesty to his quarters, Elissa? I’m sure he’d be grateful to rid himself of all that mud.”

In the midst of the recent events, Alistair had forgotten that he was covered head-to-boot in mud. He looked down at his clothes, now stiff as stone, and once again felt his cheeks flame. “Er—yes, that’d be great. I’m not quite ready to be a statue just yet,” he attempted to tug his collar; it wouldn’t budge.

Elissa giggled, making Alistair let out a shaky laugh as well. “Of course,” she looked to Fergus then Alistair. “Follow me,” she smiled at him, then turned and made her way out of the Hall with Tank at her heel.

“Right. Now that the introductions are out of the way, how about we all finish the arrangements first thing tomorrow morning?” Fergus looked to Alistair then Eamon. The arl gave his consent, then turned to Alistair.

Alistair never took his eyes from the disappearing figure of Elissa. He simply nodded in response and walked away, trying to catch up to the lady as quickly as his rigid trousers would allow.


End file.
